


Bring It On Home

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Other, Outdoor Sex, Semipublic Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-07
Updated: 2007-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin gets what he really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring It On Home

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Implied Lynn/Justin incest, as a fantasy.

It's rare these days that Chris's house is this empty -- he kicked the last hung-over stragglers out a couple of hours ago -- but it's even rarer that Timber-Timber-Timberlake is in town, and specifically to hang with him for a day or two. Maybe they're not the best friends they once were, but there are bonds there that won't ever be severed.

It's relaxing to spend some time not having to pretend about something or another, and he and Justin have a water fight in the pool before hauling themselves out to lounge in the sun and talk about all the shit going on in their lives; catch up on the madness that's put a division between them.

Right now Justin's whining -- about sex, of all things -- though it stops briefly when Chris presses a cold beer against his bare back, dead center on the huge tattoo there. Justin yelps and pulls away, hissing "fucker" through his teeth, drawing Chris's attention away from the way the skin drew up tight with goosebumps, begging for a touch.

"Yeah, whatever. You need to cool off, J. Quit your bitching." The top pops off easily and Chris chugs back a good portion of it, belching in synch with Justin.

Unfortunately, the beer only takes Justin's mind off his bitching for a minute or two, and then he's back at it.

"It's really not fair. I mean, I _like_ to top, but all the time?"

Chris downs another swallow of beer, and sighs. "Dude, seriously, I love you, but--you're whining 'cos you're being asked to top? This isn't a terrible thing. You know how many people wanna be able to say Justin Timberlake nailed 'em?"

"But maybe I wanna be the one getting nailed once in a while!" He honestly looks like he's about to pout, and Chris shook his head. "I don't get it is all. I mean. Don't I give off the right vibes, or something?"

"Well, you come off pretty toppy most--" Justin shifts and rolls onto his stomach, and Chris snaps his teeth shut over the rest of his words. So much skin, smooth and golden where it's not inked, and it's almost too much to resist.

So he doesn't. Instead, Chris draws a finger over the intricate pattern and leans in to speak softly into Justin's ear. "Maybe, baby, it's 'cos your tricks don't wanna stare at the tribute to momma while they're screwing you."

"Fuck you, Chris." Justin twists and reaches back, fingers brushing against Chris's as he scratches. Chris doesn't move his fingers and Justin relaxes back onto the towel he's laying on. "Nothin' wrong with my tattoo, and I love my momma."

"Yeah, J, the whole world knows you love your momma." Chris leans in a little closer; watches Justin shiver when the words brush over his skin. "And I know just how much you love her."

Justin tenses at the words; tenses more when Chris crowds in closer, settling himself onto his side, pressing up against Justin. "Uh, Chris--"

"Shh." He breathes the words, lips just brushing Justin's neck. The faint taste of chlorine and salt comes back, tickling down through him. "You wanna bottom? You bottom for me. I know what you need. How you need it."

"I don't--. I mean I want, uh. Um. " Tense body. He's so tense. Chris strokes his hand down over Justin's back; lingers over the outer edges of the tattoo, outlining the forbidden. Justin arches upward hesitantly, into the touch, sighing Chris's name. "Chris."

Warm, warm skin beneath his fingers. Chris slides his hand back up to the back of Justin's neck, closes over it and squeezes gently. Gently, because Justin's skittish. They never got this far before, only skirted around something they both wanted but couldn't seem to act on. Chris wanted it before; he wants it almost desperately, now.

"Say it," he mutters, mouthing warm, sweaty skin. "I can give it to you. Say it." Justin shudders like he's naked in the middle of winter, not laying beneath the hot Florida sun, and a soft whimper rises around them. Chris licks across Justin's neck, bites into the side, where the tendon stands out. Justin moans, makes a mewling sound that makes Chris want to devour him. "Say it, Justin. I wanna hear it."

_Need to hear it._

"I--you. Please. Do it. I want it." Justin's shaking against him, and Chris laughs silently against his neck, mouths down and bites into the slope of his shoulder. "Chris, God."

"You want me to fuck you." He licks downward, tasting salt and heat. Imagines he feels each whorl of the tattoo and remembers slender hands and musky perfume; skin that was cool and a mouth that was hot. "Spread you open and take you."

"Y-yes. Christ." Justin bows when Chris licks down the groove of his spine, and it's every fantasy Chris has ever had, come to life. Right down to Justin spreading his legs as Chris pulls his trunks off; panting and squirming as Chris bites and licks and tastes what he's dreamed of tasting, for what seems like forever.

So familiar, but so different, and the lines between past and present blur more with each touch, each press of his tongue to salty, musky skin. Justin writhes beneath him and Christ, Chris hasn't even touched his dick, or fucked him, or anything. Just touched his skin. Just tasted him.

"I want you," Chris mutters. "Want you…like you want me…like you want her."

Justin moans and when he tries to twist, Chris clamps down on his hips. "God--no. Chris, I don't--no--"

Red-purple marks dot Justin's back and ass, and his skin is hot and slick with sweat and sunscreen. Chris shifts back upward, scoots inward, pressing his erection against that heat. "Oh yeah, you do, baby. I know. I've always known." He leans in closer and bites Justin's ear. "I know how you want it."

There's a moment when Chris thinks it's over; that Justin's going to roll away from him or shove him away. For that long, long moment Chris remembers a silent blowjob in a dim back room somewhere in Germany, and the nights after that where he jerked off to the memory, the face in his mind -- the body between his legs -- moving between hers and her son's.

"Do it," Justin breathes, sounding both needy and uncertain. It twists inside Chris, bubbling through him like liquid fire.

"Right out here, where God and anyone could see? Where your momma could find out?" Chris kiss-bites the words into Justin's skin, feels the ripples of Justin's aborted movements against him. "No secrets, huh? Out in the open, so to speak?"

"Just. Fucking. Do it." Justin pushes back against Chris, whining low in his throat when Chris moves away. "Chris, please." Chris laughs, sharp and short, because God, could this be any more perfect?

He's out of his shorts in seconds, and slicking his cock with sunscreen, breath hissing through his teeth at the almost painful pleasure of touching himself. Hard. He's so hard, his mind clouded with memories of her and the pictures of now, of Justin spread out for him like an all-you-can-eat buffet, thighs straining when he tries to open his legs wider. Chris kneels between them, rubs his hands over Justin's ass before settling in and pushing. Breaching. Sliding in, hot and slick and fuck, Justin's so tight around him. Perfect, just perfect, impossibly tight muscle clutching at him, holding his dick inside.

"God, _yes_," Justin groans, and Chris groans too when that muscle flexes, then tightens more. Justin's pulling him in, clenched tight around him and nothing's ever hurt so good as this does.

"Yeah. Yeah, J. Like that." He's breathless, needs to hold steady for a minute and just feel. Justin whimpers when Chris shifts, sliding more comfortably against him, their fingers twining as Chris covers him. He mouths at Justin's ear, murmurs, "This is what you wanted, isn't it? But you want more, don't you? You want _her_ like this. Want your momma doing this. Covering you, filling you."

Justin convulses under him, "No!" sharp and fast, but Chris knows better. He laughs and bites Justin's neck, sucking until heat rises, until he can see a splash of redpurple beginning.

"Oh, yeah. And she'd do it, for you, baby." Hot words; Chris sees the pictures in his mind as he says them and it makes his skin crawl with want, like thousands of tiny sparks moving over him. "She'd lay you down and strap on a dick, slick it all up nice as you please." He thrusts for emphasis, growling when Justin pushes back, begging wordlessly. Chris pulls out, just the tip of his dick pressing against Justin's hole, and leans in closer. "Push into you real slow--" The words are puffs of air, underscored by Justin keening in time. "I'd wanna watch, see how you open up for her. For your momma, J. Big strap-on dildo sliding into you inch. By. Inch. Fucking you so good."

He's seated fully inside again, Justin shifting desperately beneath him, sound escaping in whimpers and sobs, wordless noises that wriggle over Chris and into him, sparking his hunger.

Justin sobs again, pushing back to meet each slow thrust. "Chris, please, yes, I--please. Just, fuck me. Make it--I want that, please, I n-need--"

Justin needs, Chris needs; need is a live thing in both of them, hot and electric. It's a hum beneath his skin that's growing, coiling low and spreading outward, and Chris lets go of Justin's hands to back up, pull Justin up with him so he can pound in harder, faster, body throbbing with lust.

"Do it," he growls, when Justin moves his arm. "Jack yourself, but think of her. Feel me, think of her. C'mon, stroke your dick, baby. Fast and hard, I know that's how you like it."

Chris matches his words with strokes, feels each one sizzle through him and Justin clenches tighter around him, straining to take it. It _hurts_ when Justin comes, muscles locking around his dick, freezing Chris in place while Justin cries out, no words, just sound, so desperate and longing and needy it burns.

It burns again when Justin sobs, "Chris," the word breathless and rough. Chris jerks his hips, the currents of pain and pleasure converging into one, spiraling through him and out of control. He digs his fingers into Justin's hips and thrusts forward over and over, grunting as the spasms tear through him, heat washing over him in waves as he comes.

They lay together for a while, hot and sticky, slick sweat cooling a little between their bodies when a breeze blows up. Chris shifts off Justin when he thinks his body will obey him, lowering himself to the sun-warmed tiles beside Justin. When Justin turns toward him his face is damp with sweat, with looks like traces of tears, but he's smiling; looks more relaxed than he's looked in ages. "Thanks. Um. I think."

Chris closes the space between them, such as it is, and smiles back. "Any time, baby. Any way you need it."

Justin tastes like love and need and pain, salty and warm and delicious, when Chris kisses him.

~fin~


End file.
